Schooled by a pint-sized swinger
At one time or another, we’ve all played a game of tetherball.
You know the one: Keep smashing the ball on the rope as hard and as
often as you can
– in one direction – until it wraps itself around a pole, all
while your opponent is trying to hit it the other way.
For kids, it’s right up there with dodge ball. For adults, it’s
a good way to pull several muscles real quick
– especially since most of us haven’t played the schoolyard
classic since retiring from duck, duck goose.
Schooled by a pint-sized swinger
At one time or another, we’ve all played a game of tetherball. You know the one: Keep smashing the ball on the rope as hard and as often as you can – in one direction – until it wraps itself around a pole, all while your opponent is trying to hit it the other way.
For kids, it’s right up there with dodge ball. For adults, it’s a good way to pull several muscles real quick – especially since most of us haven’t played the schoolyard classic since retiring from duck, duck goose.
Recently, I had a chance to get schooled by a 10 year old in this sport – in my own backyard. Believe it or not, our house had a tetherball pole in the backyard when we bought it. The previous owner had three sons.
Anyway, over the years, I’ve thought about digging up the pole, which is erected right in the middle of the backyard, and trashing it on several occasions but decided otherwise thanks to my having an 11-year-old daughter and now an infant son. And I think I’ve made the right choice because any time any kid comes over, the tetherball area doubles as a babysitter, as kids flock to it and play game after game without getting bored.
I hardly ever play it but I do edge and mow around it most weeks. I have used it a few times with my daughter and I believe there was one or two occasions where my wife and I went mano-a-mano in the 90-plus degree summertime heat, nearly having heart attacks before either one of us gave up.
Then last week, everyone in the family played it again as this 10-year-old gun-slinging tetherball guru from Nevada showed up for a couple of matches at high noon. His name is Jared Mora, the son of a long-time friend of my wife’s, who came from the Silver State for a weekend visit. What I didn’t know was a week or so before the trip my wife had informed the young Tiger Woods of tetherball that we had one!
When he arrived he was eager to take all of us on. The way he played, he could have taken us all on at once!
First, he beats my daughter Madison on her own turf. I think she’s still in shock. Then, he disposes of his own mother, Eileen, who was unable to muster up enough skills to beat her son, even with Tom Petty, her all-time favorite musician, blaring out some ’80s tune in the background.
From there, he took on my wife. And, for a while, we all thought he had met his match. The two battled it out for so long I was beginning to think we might be heading to the ER afterwards. My wife never gave up, and neither did the kid, who had packed a special wristband with him to wear over his palm in order to nullify the sting of the speeding ball.
Play continued back and forth and the sweat began to pour down my wife’s forehead. I don’t think Jared had even broken a sweat yet. But he did admit that my wife was giving him the hardest match he had ever been in.
Eventually, my wife learned that she had made a “ropey” and lost. Evidently a ropey is when your hand hits the rope and not the ball. She laughed it off and was thankful that she could now access the ice water.
We didn’t know many of the rules but Jared knew them all. We learned about “aceys,” “ropeys,” “double hits” and “crossing the line” that weekend. We also learned just how out of shape we where, especially when going up against a determined 10 year old, who stands in line everyday at recess waiting to get a game.
Now it was my turn to teach the young man a lesson, so I thought. After all, I had about a two-foot height advantage on the tetherball phenom and I had been resting. At first, I thought I’d take it easy on him. That all changed as soon as the kid, who looked kind of like Oliver on the Brady Bunch, started sending balls whizzing in circles around my head. I thought I’ve got to end this right now – before I pass out or drop dead of a heart attack. Instead, I lost and lost a few others via the ropey.
Determined to not let this embarrassing moment happen again, the next day I went out and forked out $20 for a brand new ball at the local Big 5 and took him on again – this time giving it 100 percent. This kid was too good to take lightly. It must have looked hilarious, however, seeing an out-of-shape guy over 40 giving it his all against a young kid – but it worked. I won. In fact, I won a couple of times, but I paid a price. After catching my breath about 20 minutes later, I discovered that I hurt my arm. Evidently, I pulled some muscle or tendon or something else that I never knew I had until now. I either did it hitting a shot or jumping to reach for one of his screaming hits.
This all goes to show that it’s tough to get old – and it can be even tougher to beat a determined kid…
